


Such Heights As These

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: D/s, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep inside, there's a part of Byakuya that has always longed to relinquish control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Such Heights As These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vorvayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorvayne/gifts).



> This is my birthday gift to Vorvayne, who brings nothing but wonderful things to our fandom and is a straight-up wonderful person and great friend in general. :3 If bits of this story sound familiar, that’s because he wrote them first - there are a bunch of quotes included here in loving homage to Working Relationship, which is a gorgeous fic that everyone should read before bothering with mine.
> 
> Many thanks to taydev for all the much-needed support as I flailed and fumbled my way through writing this.

“On your knees,” Renji says.

It’s late, dark already, and all is still and silent after a long day of gruelling work. They’re home, now. They’re alone in Byakuya’s own private suite and even the servants have gone to bed, which is the only reason why Byakuya can do what he is doing now. He sinks to his knees gracefully, obediently, with a steadiness that belies the frantic beating of his heart and the hot, sick feeling of shame already churning in his gut. He asked for this, and Renji’s hands are trembling just a little when they reach out to weave through Byakuya’s hair. He asked for this - a jumbled, urgent request dragged from his lips by the pressing need that has been simmering inside him since the day Renji first fell roughly into seiza and said, “let me. Please,” in a voice like cut glass. Granting permission has become the highest function of Byakuya’s life - a function that has come to define him, as he has realised for a long time now. It’s what brought Renji to him, initially, back when Renji was still lost and Byakuya still held all the answers in a hard iron fist.

Renji is not asking for permission now. With a strong tug at his hair he tilts Byakuya’s head back until his mouth falls open, and slides his half-hard cock past Byakuya’s lips with a low - and painfully artificial - growl. There’s not a shred of violence in Renji’s movements, no force, no threat. Byakuya can feel the concern radiating from Renji, a respectful, tentative caution that is the precise and perfect opposite of everything Byakuya has asked for tonight.

He cannot ask again. Once was bad enough.

Byakuya has often wished he could find the courage to trace this sickness down to its roots, down to whatever dank, mouldy corner of his soul shelters its growth. Because it _grows_ \- every day it grows within him, until it threatens to blot out the parts of him that are still sane. The parts that know it is his right and duty to control and never to be controlled, to see his orders followed, to never bow and never yield. Any other impulse he finds in his soul is a falsehood, a scandalous mockery of everything he is and everything he should be. Byakuya is a seasoned expert in ignoring the depravity that lurks, shadowy and shameful, in the back of his mind.

But Renji...well, Renji makes it harder to ignore. And so Byakuya has asked, with clammy hands and averted gaze, and he has given his solemn word - _I will not use force, I will not fight back_ \- and Renji is trying, clearly trying, to deliver. But his every touch is cautious and Byakuya can almost hear the _are you sure?_ that threatens to slip from his tongue at any moment.

For the dozenth time this evening. 

And Byakuya cannot ask again. He cannot.

Renji’s cock is still soft in his mouth and, stubbornness taking hold, Byakuya _refuses_ to suck. He kneels there, radiating disapproval, as Renji thrusts clumsily into his face. Renji pulls back almost at once and Byakuya can feel the words that are coming next - _maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t know why you suggested it. Let’s just not bring it up any more._ And he will have to climb back up off his knees and onto his throne and pretend, as always, that deference belongs to other people. That he has never once craved the touch of a firm hand, or the stern, demanding guidance of someone who isn’t afraid to tear down his defenses. Someone who notices how his spine bends and buckles beneath the weight of his own authority.

He keeps his eyes fixed the floor and steels himself for bitter disappointment.

The first blow falls light and harmless - barely a slap to his cheek, but Byakuya’s head snaps to the side anyway at the sheer unexpectedness of it. He lifts his gaze, and looks up into eyes that are brimming with doubt and anxiety but that he can nearly, just _nearly_ imagine are brimming with anger instead. The room feels suddenly airless. “Renji-”

 _Smack_. The blow falls harder this time, and less tentative. “Don’t be difficult,” says Renji, and his voice wavers but it’s still definitely a command. “You know what I want from you.” And it’s a joke, it has to be, because what Renji _wants_ is simple - he’s never been difficult to please. This shame belongs to Byakuya, whose palms are nail-scored and whose knuckles are white and whose mind and body are alight with frustrated longing. Renji has never asked for anything more than the patient guiding hand of Byakuya’s authority. It’s what he wants, Renji has always insisted, and Byakuya wonders if it was unfair to ask this of him. Unfair to show so much weakness when perhaps Renji, like everyone else in Byakuya’s life, has need only of his strength.

Even still, Renji is trying - his gaze is cold, and Byakuya’s cheek is stinging from the force of his second slap - but no matter how his efforts make Byakuya’s blood _burn_ in his veins, he cannot yield. Not to a man who still looks ready to bow down before him and apologise. So he lifts his head and stares up defiantly into Renji’s gaze and says, “make me.”

_(And he’s not pleading, he’s definitely not pleading. It is a challenge, a statement of defiance and nothing more.)_

The next blow is delivered closed-fist, and so powerful that Byakuya tastes blood when he runs his tongue over his stinging lip. Renji grabs a handful of his hair and wrenches Byakuya back around to face him, and there’s no trace of fake anger left in Renji’s eyes. Something has clicked into place, sudden and apparently unprompted, and for a moment Renji’s gaze is so soft that Byakuya nearly panics and pushes him away.

And then he feels the pressure of a foot, heavy and unmistakeably threatening, against his groin. “You,” says Renji calmly, “are going to suck me. Now open that mouth or I _will_ make you.”

And Byakuya’s entire train of thought comes to a slamming, screeching halt.

 _Smack_. His vision is blotted out by sudden, stinging pain, and his mouth falls open and Renji’s cock is shoving in again and - oh. Renji has...started enjoying himself, somehow. Something hot and electric is racing through Byakuya’s veins and he relaxes his throat, feels Renji’s other hand wrap around the back of his neck and thrust up to meet him. Renji fucks Byakuya’s throat slowly and deeply, forcing Byakuya to swallow frantically around him, his hand in Byakuya’s hair holding firmly. He hardens more fully as he moves until he’s filling Byakuya’s whole mouth and breath is threatening to become an issue. And Byakuya can no more resist now than he could deny his desire in the first place. He yields, because it is what he is built to do - what no amount of self-restraint and outward discipline can change about him.

“Oh fuck, Byakuya.” Renji’s voice is a low growl, no longer artificial but deep and throaty and _raw_. Even the insolent way he says Byakuya’s name, plain and unadorned, drips with a self-confidence that definitely wasn’t there only moments before. Something in Byakuya’s chest is sparking, catching fire. He finds himself pushing back against Renji’s grip just to feel the sharp pull of fingers tightening in his hair and the threat of that foot pushing down just a little more between his legs. Already he is completely, _humiliatingly_ hard. His ears are filled with the sound of his own pulse and Renji’s muted cursing and a strange, untraceable whine that starts low and seems to crescendo as Renji pulls Byakuya back off his cock and stares down at him with eyes that are molten and scorching.

“Just listen to you,” Renji groans. He’s panting, out of breath already. “You want this so bad, don’t you?” And it hits Byakuya that the one making those awful, needy noises is _him_ , and the shame is enough to make the blood drain from his face. But Renji doesn’t seem to care. Something has changed, some new understanding has been reached, and before Byakuya can register what is happening he’s hitting the floor, thrown backwards by the hardest blow yet, and Renji is bearing down on him and flipping him over and dragging his hips up off the ground and everything fades to a fiery, breathless blur. 

It’s like being torn wide open. Byakuya props his head on his hands and sinks his teeth into his own wrist to stifle the pained, senseless sounds that spill uncontrolled from his throat. Renji’s breath is rushing hot and loud by his ear, nails digging ruthlessly into his hips. He fucks Byakuya with a fierce, uncaring _greed_ , each punishing thrust jarring Byakuya’s spine, and further thought is becoming impossible. Shame is impossible. Restraint is impossible. Byakuya hangs on by a thread, and when sharp nails rake down his exposed back the thread snaps and he _moans_ , long and deep and guttural.

It’s what he’s built for. The rest doesn’t matter any more.

Renji leans in over him, bracing himself on the floor, free hand tracing sharp lines of fire down Byakuya’s back as his nails dig in deeper. Time stops mattering. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Every inch of Byakuya’s body is on fire, and he starts to push back, arching into Renji’s thrusts with all he has left. Something like a _snarl_ leaves Renji’s throat and he grabs Byakuya’s wrists roughly, pulls them back, pins them behind him and _surges_ forward…

And Byakuya falls apart completely.

He hardly knows where his orgasm ends and the afterglow begins. Renji doesn’t stop until the searing pleasure has faded to a dull glow, until each thrust feels painful and raw and unbearably oversensitive, and then he too comes with an animalistic _howl_ that leaves Byakuya’s ears ringing.

And then everything fades to the smell of Renji all around him and the sweat cooling on his body and the soothing weight of warm, strong arms wrapped around him.

It takes a moment for the dull, steady whisper of sound around him to resolve into words that Byakuya can process. “You’re alright,” Renji is murmuring, and “god, you’re beautiful like this,” and other things that don’t really matter because Byakuya is flying. Later, he will have to gather himself together and go back out into the real world, the one where he is in charge and self-sufficient and must hide every outward sign of his inner weakness. But in this moment, with Renji’s arms around him and that calming voice in his ear, later ceases to matter. Because here, now, there is no shame. There is no restraint.

There is only Byakuya, exactly as he was built to be, and Renji, who has only ever needed Byakuya’s strength but might just be strong enough to take on the rest of him, too.

 


	2. Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pendulum swings back the other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out all these years, I've had an entire second chapter of this fic sitting in my drafts folder, just waiting to be cleaned up and posted.
> 
> So uh, hi, Bleach fandom! It's been a while.

Byakuya wakes and, for those first few hazy moments, everything is bliss.

He’s warm, curled tight against Renji’s chest, with Renji’s arm wrapped securely around his waist and Renji’s legs entangled with his own. He aches. Everything aches, and his first coherent thought is to wonder what it would be like if Renji pinned him down and took him again, when his body already hurts this much.

His second coherent thought comes with a roiling, nauseating wave of self-contempt, and he dislodges Renji’s arm and sits up. Renji stirs, mumbling something into the pillow, but Byakuya is too preoccupied to parse it. His head is filled with memories of Renji’s hands, Renji’s violence last night, and how good all of it felt in surrender.

For years, decades, Byakuya has fought against this despicable impulse of his. And now, in a single moment of weakness, it has all come to nothing. His back is scored with long, stinging lines where Renji scratched him; from the blood dotted on his sheets, there must be broken skin there somewhere. His throat is swollen and tender, sore to swallow, like it’s still struggling against the intrusion of Renji’s cock. His knees and hips are bruised, which surprises him - he’s walked away from full-contact sparring matches with less bruising than this. But then, when he spars, he is shielded by his reiatsu and his strength of will. Last night he let his guard down completely, and the proof is written raw and shameful on his body.

“Byakuya?” Renji is stirring in earnest now, yawning and blinking blearily up at Byakuya, his voice sleep-slurred. “‘s too early...come back to bed.” He throws a clumsy arm around Byakuya’s waist, trying to pull him back down, and from this act of untempered impudence Byakuya draws the only conclusion any reasonable soul could draw: Renji has lost all respect for him.

As is only fair, after the contemptible display he made last night.

Byakuya detaches himself from Renji’s grip and rises from the bed. “It’s time for work,” he says, even though it isn’t, even though the sun has hardly broken the horizon and he finished most of today’s work yesterday. He’s been spending a lot of his time in the office lately, hoping hard work would purge him of the miserable fantasies that ended up spilling out anyway. He doesn’t know how to redress the situation now except go  _ back _ to work, and hope that maybe this time the strategy will prove more effective. Certainly it’s the best option he has, because if he doesn’t leave soon, he’s going to end up on his knees begging to be used like a piece of Rukongai street trash. 

Again.

Renji seems not to understand this, or else he is trying to make things harder. He’s properly awake now, and he jumps up swiftly after Byakuya and says, “Hey, hold up a minute. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” says Byakuya shortly. His uniform lies in a crumpled heap on the floor where he left it, and he picks up his haori and does his best to shake the wrinkles out of it. For a minute he’s annoyed that none of the servants thought to pick it up, but then he remembers that he explicitly ordered them not to enter his quarters until he emerged from them this morning. He’ll have to manage by himself. He’s trying to remember how to make his voice sound steady and commanding, instead of hoarse and a little shaky. “If you’re tired, you are welcome to lie in a while longer. I’ll meet you at work.”

It’s a good offer. But Renji is apparently feeling especially obstinate today, because he doesn’t lie back down. Just sighs and rakes a hand through his tangled hair and says, “I knew you’d be like this." 

“I beg your pardon?” Now halfway to dressed, Byakuya feels at least halfway more himself, though the soreness isn’t fading - he’ll have to live with it all day, probably, as a reminder of his ongoing humiliation. It makes his pulse quicken just to think about.

For a moment, Renji holds his gaze stubbornly; then he just sighs again, and shakes his head. “Nothing. Sorry.”  Which doesn’t make Byakuya feel better, exactly, but it’s a step up from open defiance - and it’s a step Byakuya can live with.

Those are the last words the two of them exchange for most of the rest of the day.

The most alarming thing, as Byakuya plows stone-faced through his day of work, is how strangely sated and  _ relaxed _ he feels. He’s in just enough pain that it should be irritating, but all he can feel is a warm sense of satisfaction that spreads from the ache in his core through his entire body. There’s something reassuring in the way his uniform chafes the torn skin of his back, reminding him of the shameful secret he carries beneath his uniform. Byakuya is used to shameful secrets. His whole life, written out chronologically, is little more than a laundry list of shameful secrets, but this one is different because he chose it for himself. “I want it like this,” he told Renji.  _ Degrade me. Disgrace me. Strip away my rank, my name, leave nothing in me unviolated. _ Now he is going about his business as usual, and none of the people who bow and defer know that they’re bowing to a man who spent last night serving another on his hands and knees.

How long has he been looking for this? This is the cure for the awful tension that has been driving him, slowly but surely, to a point of trembling desperation. This is what he has craved, on those nights when he burned with hunger for something that always sat just outside his reach – and he already knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this all it can ever be. That he cannot have it again.

There is far too much he stands to lose. 

And so he keeps his calm, works steadily through his day’s duties, and when Renji appears at his door at the end of the day he straightens his shoulders and says, “Meet me back at the manor tonight.” It’s an invitation and an order and a dismissal all at once, and he’s somewhat concerned when Renji responds with a big grin and swoops across the room to give him a swift peck on the cheek before leaving.

“I’ll be waiting,” he breathes in Byakuya’s ear. And – shamefully – Byakuya’s pulse spikes a little with the wealth of promise in Renji’s voice. When he gets back to his quarters, he isn't disappointed – Renji is there, true to his word, out of uniform already and wearing a loose, thin yukata draped so as to show off more than it hides. He is stretched out on the futon, legs parted, posture easy and open, and the invitation could hardly be clearer had he hung a 'please enter' sign around his neck.

Something is stirring inside Byakuya at the sight of him – a hot, heavy, roiling feeling, and it's definitely arousal but there's also something else that he's not sure he wants to identify. He slides the door closed behind him and steps forward into the room, acutely aware of Renji's eyes following his every movement. 

"You look tired," Renji says, low and husky. "Why don't you come lie down?" He pats the empty space beside him encouragingly, but there's too much confidence in his tone – like he's issuing an order.

Byakuya meets his eyes, and even though the sight makes the heat spike inside him again, he keeps his gaze cool. He is still in uniform. Still a captain of the Gotei 13. He has that, even if his instincts are screaming at him to rush forward and join Renji on the bed. "Are you going to remain at ease," he says, "while your superior officer stands?"

If he's honest, he is hoping for a reaction, something to shake Renji out of his smug self-assurance. But Renji is entirely too quick to adapt. With a flicker of a grin he pushes himself up off the bed, crosses the room, and sinks slowly and deliberately to the floor in front of Byakuya. "I apologise, sir."  _ I know this game _ , his voice says.  _ I know this game, and I'm happy to play _ . "How may I serve you?"

And it doesn't make sense, because just last night it was Byakuya kneeling on the floor at Renji's feet, and how can things have gone back to normal so quickly? He knows that Renji's view of him has changed. He was expecting resistance, and resistance he could have overcome. But Renji is...playing along. Indulging him. 

Patronising him.

Slowly, deliberately, he steps forward. He wants to know how far Renji will carry this pretense, so he fists a hand in Renji's hair and tilts his chin up, and with his spare hand he moves to free his cock from his hakama. Renji's eyes seem to melt around the edges and he exhales a long, hissing breath. He doesn't move, though – just kneels there expectantly, waiting for Byakuya to direct him where he's wanted. Perfect obedience. He has been trained well – perhaps a little too well, and the fire in Byakuya's belly is sparking but it isn't catching, yet. There's still something missing.

The hand in Renji's hair tightens, pulling, to see how he will react. Renji's eyes flutter closed and he makes a short noise, somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. But he doesn't resist. Byakuya pulls harder. There's that noise again. "Am I hurting you?" he asks, and feels a muted shudder of excitement course through him when Renji opens his eyes to reveal wide blown pupils, and nods. "I won't have to hurt you if you behave." And it's the closest Byakuya can bring himself to begging Renji to abandon the act, to give him a reason to do what he knows he must.

For a moment, Renji is very still. It's not a submissive stillness, but a thoughtful one, and it drags on long enough that Byakuya hits the limit of his patience. Tilting Renji's head back further, he frees his cock and slides it into Renji's mouth – and Renji jerks his head away as if he's going to gag already. "No."

_ Oh _ .

He has understood.

Byakuya's heart leaps in his chest and the fire is catching in earnest now, because Renji's hands are balled into fists at his side and he's leaning as far away as Byakuya's grip will let him. "No?" Byakuya says, and wrenches Renji back to face him.  

To his surprise, Renji's face is no longer gentle and submissive, but he fixes Byakuya with a broad leer. "You heard me," he crows. "I said no. So how about you get down here and suck me off instead?" He moves so fast that for a split second Byakuya cannot think to react. All of a sudden Renji is tearing free of his grip, leaving only a few torn-out strands of hair in his hand, and spinning around to deliver a sharp blow to the back of the knees that nearly sends Byakuya toppling. And all Byakuya knows next is  _ anger _ , and the struggle lasts all of five seconds before Renji doubles over, hitting the ground with a painful thud, and Byakuya is on him like lightning to pin him where he lies. Renji struggles desperately against him, and Byakuya’s heart is in his throat and he’s so hard it hurts.

And so he doesn't hold back. Renji groans and whimpers and thrashes beneath him, but his grip is too strong. It doesn't take long for the noises to pick up in earnest, sobbing cries and moans that ride the edges of pain and pleasure as Byakuya fucks him with punishing force. It's exactly how it should be, it's right and it's necessary but mostly it's  _ good _ , and Byakuya finds himself biting hard into the flesh of Renji's shoulder to hold back a deep welling cry of his own. 

Renji is writhing, hands clawing at the floor beneath them, disjointed pleas and curses tumbling from his lips. "Yes," Byakuya hears, and "Oh god, please, keep going," and none of it matters because can think of is how hard Renji is still fighting him and how utterly, deliciously futile it is. He forces Renji's head down, pressing his cheek hard against the floor and basking in the crescendo of moans as Renji falls apart with an unrestrained sob and a tight clench that nearly drags Byakuya with him.

There are actual tears brimming in Renji's eyes when Byakuya pulls out and turns him over on his back. He has stopped fighting, his face slack with bliss, and he whimpers low in his throat and opens his mouth as if in invitation. But Byakuya is so far gone now that just the sight is more than enough. He comes all over Renji's face with a guttural moan, overwhelmed by the way Renji flinches when semen hits his cheek and how his tongue flicks out, slow and shameless, to catch it.

"Are you done fighting me?" Byakuya says, when he has caught his breath. Renji just nods, and whimpers again. His eyes are open but his expression is vacant, like he's barely even present, like he's floating on some other plane. Byakuya remembers how it felt last night, when he was soaring too high to see the ground, when Renji's protective arms were all that anchored him. He grits his teeth and helps Renji up, scooping him off the floor and propping him up to stagger towards the bed.

This is how things are supposed to be. Last night wasn’t, after all, an irreparable disaster. Which means –

Byakuya’s not sure what it means. He’s not sure how to feel, so he settles on ‘drained’ and buries his face in Renji’s hair, pulls Renji’s pliant body close, and as he drifts off, he vaguely hears Renji mumble: “Love it when you get like that.”


End file.
